


Caldo de Pollo

by LerxstInSpace



Series: Contingency Plan-verse [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Established Curtis/Shiro (Voltron), Fluff and Humor, M/M, Past Adam/Shiro (Voltron), Past Curtis/Adam (Voltron), Shiro (Voltron) Can't Cook, Sickfic, but he tries, oh my god does he try
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 04:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17635847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LerxstInSpace/pseuds/LerxstInSpace
Summary: Okay. So he’ll need to hit the drugstore for cough drops and VapoRub and maybe some candy, Curtis might like something to feed his sweet tooth. And he’ll need to go to the grocery store for drinks and... canned chicken soup.Ugh. Really?That just doesn’t seem right, there must be something else he really wants other than shitty canned soup, but what? Dammit, Adam would have known. But the only recipes he left on that memory card were for the Japanese comfort food he used to make for Shiro, not for whatever he would have made for Curtis when he felt crummy.Because, of course, Adam knew better than anyone that Shiro couldn’t cook if his life depended on it.[In which Curtis gets the crud and Shiro wants to do something nice for him.]





	Caldo de Pollo

Shiro starts to suspect that something isn’t right when he wakes up sweating at four and someodd in the morning.

 

He knows he didn’t have any unpleasant dreams. Not this time--no, this time, it’s actually because he’s too hot. Which is weird, because he keeps his room cool enough at night to allow for a nice thick blanket even with Curtis spooned up behind him like he is tonight.

 

He kicks the blanket off him and that helps a little, but that doesn’t explain why he was hot in the first place...

 

 _Oh shit,_ Shiro thinks as he realizes exactly what part of him is so hot. It’s his back. Curtis tends to keep it warm for him when they share a bed, but this is _too_ warm.

 

His breathing sounds strange, too. Not particularly labored or noisy, just... different. Shiro very carefully turns over and finds Curtis breathing through his mouth.

 

He does the math and comes up with an unpleasant answer.

 

“Hey,” he whispers, gently shaking Curtis by the shoulder. “Curtis.”

 

No response.

 

“Curtis?”

 

“Nnh.” Beyond that, nothing.

 

Shiro sighs. All right, looks like it’s going to have to be the nuclear option--the ridiculous pet name he accidentally came up with when he sort of tripped over his own tongue a while back, the one that never fails to make Curtis laugh...

 

“Curtiepie?”

 

That gets a reaction--a drowsy smile and a little bubble of hoarse laughter.

 

 _There we go,_ Shiro thinks, and he reaches up to gently brush Curtis’ hair away from his very warm forehead. “You okay, baby?”

 

Curtis blinks his eyes half-open and shuts them again, and seems to think about that for a minute. Or he might just be asleep again. Either way, before he can answer, the 0500 alarm goes off.

 

Curtis groans and slaps the snooze button.

 

 _Oh shit,_ Shiro thinks again.

 

They don’t share a bed every night yet, but they do it often enough for Shiro to know that Curtis Alvarez does _not_ hit that snooze button. Ever. That alarm goes off at the stroke of five in the morning and he’s wide awake, hopping out of bed, and bouncing off to put coffee on and drink it out of a mug that literally says _I ♥ Mornings_ on it before they go off to the gym.

 

Nope. Not today. Today he hits the snooze button and rolls back over, and now Shiro _knows_ he’s sick.

 

“What’s not feeling good?” he asks gently, and Curtis flops his arm over his eyes and groans again.

 

“Stuffed up,” he mumbles. Then he sneezes violently into the crook of his elbow. Once. Twice. Three times. When the fourth one doesn’t quite happen, he presses the heel of his hand to the bridge of his nose, right between his watery eyes, and he grimaces like it stings. _“Ow.”_

 

Shiro pets Curtis’ forehead some more, and then he thinks about the hand he’s doing that with. There are a number of interesting little gadgets and gewgaws programmed into it, and every time Pidge updates its firmware she throws in a few more nifty new features. It’s got all kinds of fun security tools, an activity and sleep tracker that syncs up with that app his therapist wanted him to try, even a limiter he can enable and disable at will (he still hasn’t given Pidge a straight answer as to why he asked for that and he’s never going to).

 

But one of those extra functions might be especially useful right now.

 

He lays that hand on Curtis’ forehead. He’s never consciously used this and he’s not really sure how it’s going to work until he suddenly becomes aware that Curtis’ forehead is exactly 100.4 degrees Fahrenheit. What’s the difference between forehead and actual temperature? Is it a degree cooler? Half a degree? Either way, _oof._ That’s not good.

 

“Yeah.” Shiro pats his chest. “No work for you today. I’m taking you to sick call.”

 

“Don’t do that.” Curtis makes a noise that’s probably meant to be a groan but comes out as more of a whine. “It’s probably just allergies.”

 

“Not with that fever, it’s not,” Shiro scolds gently. “Come on, now. If it was the other way around, would you let _me_ get away with that?”

 

Curtis opens his eyes halfway and gives Shiro a look that’s probably meant to be withering but is really more pitiful than anything. “That’s a cheap shot and you know it,” he grumbles.

 

“All’s fair in love and war.” Shiro leans over and gives him a little peck on the forehead. “Go back to sleep. I’ll come get you when it’s time to go.”

 

Sick call isn’t for another two hours, so in the meantime Shiro gets up to check his sick-day inventory.

 

Box of tissues: check.

 

They usually sit on the nightstand, but just for ease of access Shiro tucks them against Curtis’ side and then brings in the bathroom trash can for the used ones. Curtis pulls one out of the box, sits up halfway, and tries--without much success, by the sound of it--to blow his nose. Shiro winces a little. It sounds like he’s trying to expel five pounds of mostly-set cement from his head. God, no wonder he’s breathing through his mouth.

 

Any sort of head-unstuffing medicine in here? Nope. There’s the over-the-counter painkillers Shiro sometimes needs for his blessedly _normal_ headaches, and those might help bring Curtis’ fever down and deal with any achiness, but no decongestant or anything. Well, he’ll probably come out of sick call with some prescriptions for some really good stuff on that front. But what about stuff like cough drops and VapoRub? He’s not coughing right now, but if whatever’s clogging up his poor head migrates south he’ll need it... and even if it doesn’t, it might just be better to have that stuff and not need it than the other way around. So that’s a drugstore run.

 

What about food? Eeh... there’s peanut butter and crackers in here--yes, Shiro has actually started applying peanut butter to other foods instead of just eating it out of the jar with a spoon. There’s some leftover pizza in the fridge. There’s a box of protein bars. Nope, that won’t do. He’ll need a lot of fluids for sure, but... _food?_ What does Curtis like to eat when he’s sick? That wasn’t one of the things Adam mentioned in his video message to them, and it hasn’t come up in conversation yet.

 

Shiro makes a mental note to ask him on the way to Medical.

 

* * *

 

Chicken soup.

 

Okay. That’s doable, but there’s something about the way Curtis answers that question that doesn’t quite sit right. There’s something unspoken in it, something left dangling, something that’s not quite adding up.

 

“Just... the kind from a can?” Shiro asks him.

 

Curtis gives him a bleary side-eye from the passenger seat. “Just the kind from a can.”

 

Sounds fake, but okay. “Are you sure? Maybe I could make you--”

 

 _“No.”_ Curtis is trying to sound stern, but he can’t stop the mildly horrified smile that spreads across his face. “Just no. Even _you_ can heat up the canned stuff in the microwave. I appreciate the thought but please. I’m begging you. Don’t go there.” Curtis reaches across and pats Shiro’s knee. “Remember what happened last time.”

 

“I feel _very_ attacked right now,” Shiro says as he reaches over to return that little pat but... well, Curtis does have a point. The last time he tried to cook something was... well, the less said about that, the better. In his defense, they only had to leave the windows open for one day to get rid of the smell. “But okay. The canned stuff it is.”

 

* * *

 

Shiro drops Curtis off at Medical and then goes in to get as much work done as he can, because he’s got a feeling he’s going to be cutting out early.

 

An hour or so later he gets a text: _yay woo sinus infection :P Gotta go by pharmacy & get stuff then going home. _

 

Ouch.

 

 _That’s no fun. :( Need a ride?_ Shiro texts back.

 

_Nah, I’ll just catch the shuttle. See you after you get off?_

 

 _Of course,_ Shiro replies. _Get some rest. Love you._

 

 _Love you too,_ Curtis sends.

 

Okay. So he’ll need to hit the drugstore for cough drops and VapoRub and maybe some candy, Curtis might like something to feed his sweet tooth. And he’ll need to go to the grocery store for drinks and... canned chicken soup.

 

Ugh. _Really?_

 

That just doesn’t seem right, there must be something else he really wants other than shitty canned soup, but what? Dammit, Adam would have known. But the only recipes he left on that memory card were for the Japanese comfort food he used to make for Shiro, not for whatever he would have made for Curtis when _he_ felt crummy.

 

Because, of course, Adam knew better than anyone that Shiro couldn’t cook if his life depended on it.

 

Wait. Veronica hangs out with Curtis a lot, doesn’t she? Hell, she hung out with Adam a lot too _._ Maybe she’d know.

 

* * *

 

“Yeah, Adam told me one time,” Veronica says. “But if _he_ won’t tell you, I’m not telling you either.”

 

“Oh, come on!” Shiro pleads. But she’s confirmed it--there _is_ something else Curtis likes when he’s sick. “Why not!?”

 

“Because you’ll find out that the only place in town you could get a bowl that was any good never opened back up after the invasion. And then you’ll look for a recipe and you’ll try to make it yourself.” She raises an eyebrow. “And then we’ll all have to evacuate the dorm again and we’ll all get another lecture about appliances in our rooms when _you_ are literally the reason why they’re not allowed.”

 

“Okay. No. Don’t start that. The ‘nothing but a microwave and a coffee maker’ rule was a thing when we were cadets--”

 

“It wasn’t a thing that actually got enforced until _someone_ brought in an electric skillet and set his curtains on fire trying to make pancakes for his training-partner-turned-boyfriend.”

 

Shiro pinches the bridge of his nose to ward off the impending headache. He knows his cooking skills--or lack thereof--are legendary but come on, she’s just being mean now and worse, he can almost _hear_ Adam laughing. “If I promise to pass that intel along to someone who knows how to cook, will you tell me what he _really_ wants?”

 

Veronica stares him down. “You promise you won’t try and cook it yourself.”

 

“Promise,” Shiro says, mentally crossing his fingers behind his back.

 

She says three words in Spanish.

 

* * *

 

Okay. Shiro knows _pollo_ is chicken. He knows _de_ means it’s a something-with-chicken. He has no idea what the hell _caldo_ is but that’s what the Net is for and by God, he can find out.

 

After a few misspelled attempts, he finds it.

 

 _Caldo_ is... soup.

 

 _Caldo de pollo_ is chicken soup. Except spicier and with different vegetables and such. Well, there should be _somewhere_ in town he can get it, right?

 

But just as Veronica said, the only two functioning restaurants in town that still have it on the menu have abysmal Yowl reviews. Even worse, one of them is currently closed because the health department found... oh God. Oh _no._ Just reading the news article about what they found in the ice machine is bad enough. But then Shiro makes the mistake of scrolling down, and the picture actually makes him gag. Nope. Nope. _Nope._

 

So... he can pretty much rule out takeout. But it’s just chicken soup, right? That can’t be too hard to make, can it?

 

Yes.

 

Yes, it can.

 

Because even the recipes he finds that have the words _quick_ or _easy_ in the title involve things like dissecting a whole raw chicken or skimming scum(!?) off the top of the pot as the soup cooks or--ugh, forget it. He’ll just go get Curtis his canned chicken soup and...

 

Wait.

 

What if... what if he knew someone who could maybe figure out an easier way to do this? And possibly coach him through actually cooking it? Someone who loves to share his cooking expertise, someone with boundless compassion and enough patience to put up with him asking the dumbest possible questions?

 

He _does_ know someone like that, doesn’t he?

 

Shiro whips out his phone and sends Hunk a text: _HELP. Sick boyfriend wants caldo de pollo. Need super easy recipe._

 

Hunk doesn’t respond for a long, long time. Long enough that Shiro is just about to call it a wash and go get the canned stuff.

 

And then his phone finally pings.

 

_HOW easy?_

 

Shiro shuts his eyes and sighs. _Something *I* could make,_ he replies, and braces for the inevitable ribbing. But it doesn’t come.

 

 _Can do. How spicy? Is he pukey-sick or snotty-sick?_ is all Hunk says, and Shiro lets out a great sigh of relief. Bless that man.

 

 _Snotty,_ Shiro sends back. _Hasn’t said anything about his throat being sore, so kinda spicy is probably OK but don’t wanna go nuts w/it._

 

_Roger that. Stand by._

 

Shiro stands by, and then his phone pings again.

 

 _Go to the store, get THIS EXACT STUFF, I’ll meet you @ your room. Txt if you run into trouble. You can do this! I believe in you!_ [long string of assorted encouraging emoji]

 

There follows a clear, concise shopping list. Most of the items start with the words “1 can of.” One of the items is “rotisserie chicken from the deli.” Hunk will even loan him the necessary equipment. And maybe some of it is technically not allowed in the dorm, but Shiro sure as hell isn’t going to write him up for it.

 

Okay. _Okay._ This is doable.

 

He doesn’t have a lot that absolutely _has_ to get done today, and Iverson can handle most what’s left. So, he knocks off work and heads out to do some shopping.

 

* * *

 

He goes to the drugstore first, since nothing he gets there is going to be perishable--the cough drops and VapoRub and all that good stuff. A couple of Heath bars. Some other assorted goodies.

 

Next stop: the grocery store.

 

He’s _got_ this.

 

* * *

 

Maybe he has not quite got this.

 

God, Shiro hasn’t even left the store yet and he already needs hand-holding. _WTF is a Ro-Tel!?_ he texts.

 

 _Diced tomatoes w/chiles,_ Hunk replies. _Check the aisle w/the canned tomatoes._

 

Ah. Got it. Mild? Medium? Hot? Medium is probably the safest bet. Curtis can always add some hot sauce if it’s not spicy enough--wait, there’s a specific hot sauce he likes, but Shiro can’t very well ask him to bring it over or go get it without tipping him off. Cha... something? Shit.

 

He texts Hunk and gets the answer almost immediately: _Cholula! Yeah, good idea._ [thumbs-up emoji]

 

They have it. Great. He adds a bottle to the basket.

 

The rest of the items are pretty straightforward--big carton of chicken broth, can of corn, can of black beans, jar of pre-minced garlic, thing of sour cream--uh-oh. _He hates cilantro,_ Shiro texts. _How big a problem is that?_

 

_Oh cool, he’s a supertaster! Skip it, it’s fine._

 

Okay, good. He grabs a rotisserie chicken and an avocado that is neither too hard nor too mushy and hopes like hell Hunk can show him how to cut it up.

 

And that’s everything on the list. Shiro grabs a few bottles of assorted sports drinks and juices and then checks over his basket, checks over the list, sends  Hunk a photo of the contents of his basket, gets the thumbs-up emoji of approval, and gets in line.

 

* * *

 

When Shiro gets back to his room, Hunk is waiting outside his door with a fancy-looking black bag on the floor by his feet and a smaller bag hanging on his arm.

 

“You have _no idea_ how much I appreciate you helping me with this,” Shiro says as he opens the door and waves Hunk inside.

 

“Hey, no worries.” Hunk sets the black bag down on the kitchenette counter and unzips it to reveal the shining stainless steel form of one of those electric pressure cooker things. He actually has a special carrying bag for his contraband pressure cooker, because of course he does. “I’m just glad you want to learn, y’know?”

 

“Aw, Hunk...” Shiro pats him on the back and starts taking stuff out of the grocery bags. “Okay,” he says, “Talk to me like I’m four years old. I’m not even kidding.”

 

“Oh yeah, of course--” Hunk plugs the pot in, and it makes a cheerful little noise. Shiro eyes it suspiciously. He isn’t sure he trusts it. He’s heard horror stories about beef stroganoff on the ceiling and whatnot. “So we’re not actually gonna pressure cook this, we just need to heat it through is all and this is faster than a crockpot and better than the microwave.” Oh. Okay, that’s reassuring. “I’ll show you how to do the pressure cooker stuff some other time if you want but for now... see that button that says ‘saute?’”

 

“Got it.”

 

“Push the button.”

 

Oh, man. Hunk actually trusts _him_ to do this. So Shiro pushes the button. The pot makes another cheerful little noise and starts to heat up.

 

From there on out, it’s mostly “open this and pour it in.” And even that hits a minor roadblock--how the hell has Shiro gotten along all this time without a damn can opener in his room?

 

No worries. Hunk makes a quick run back to his room and comes back with one.

 

The corn needs drained before he dumps it in, but that’s easy. The beans need drained and rinsed. Still easy.

 

None of this is really that hard, honestly. True, it’s probably not going to be the most authentic soup but... open some cans, pour them all into a pot, and heat it up? Shit, if he’d known he could get by with cooking like that he would have asked Hunk to teach him sooner.

 

The stuff in the pot is burbling away and now it’s starting to smell like soup. Hunk makes one minor correction, then watches Shiro measure the spices that go into it and nods approval when he dumps cumin and chili powder and stuff in.

 

“Really, with soup and stew and stuff it’s not super critical to measure stuff exactly, you can kinda just... eyeball it once you know what you’re doing,” Hunk says. “Some stuff you really can’t do that with, though. And it’s good for you to learn how to do it by the book first.”

 

So now... the chicken.

 

This turns out to be the fun part--just take two forks and go nuts on it.

 

“So,” Hunk asks while Shiro is tearing up the chicken, “Things are going pretty good with you and Curtis, huh?”

 

Shiro just laughs and turns a thigh over, looking for more meat to shred off it. “Oh yeah. He’s great.”

 

“I like him.” Hunk watches quietly for a while as Shiro works the chicken over. “You’re different these days. You just seem... I dunno how to put it. Lighter. I guess being in love’s been good for you?”

 

“Well, yeah...” Shiro shrugs and picks a little bit of meat off a drumstick. “That and therapy.”

 

“Ooh, right.” Hunk knows about that, _all_ the Paladins do, all of the bridge crew does, all of his friends do. Shiro decided from the start that he wasn’t going to keep that a secret. He wasn’t the only person on the _Atlas_ crew who’d seen and lived through some horrible shit, after all, and he thinks it might be good for them to see _him_ being open about getting some help for it. “How’s that going?”

 

 _“Hard.”_ Shiro laughs softly and flips the chicken carcass over to search its underside for more good meat. “Hardest thing I’ve ever done. Sure is worth it, though.”

 

He picks the last few bits of meat off and drops the shredded chicken right into the pot. There’s a lot of skin and bones left behind after that, and Shiro is just about to ask what the hell they do with it when Hunk closes up the container.

 

“I’ll just take this with me, if you don’t mind. I can use it for stock later,” he says. Huh. Okay. Not like Shiro’s going to know what to do with them.

 

At this point, the soup proper is done. Shiro grabs one of his two spoons, dips it into the pot, blows on it, and...

 

It’s good. It’s actually _good._ Hunk samples it too and gives him a big grin and a thumbs-up. Again, it’s probably not terribly authentic, but it tastes good.

 

 _Holy shit,_ Shiro thinks, _I did that._ He--okay, yes, maybe what he did was dump cans of stuff into a pot but he dumped a combination of cans into a pot that made _this._

 

Curtis is going to flip out.

 

But first... the avocado.

 

Hunk brought over a cutting board and a good knife, but... “Okay,” Shiro says, staring at the avocado, “I’m gonna need a hint.”

 

“Well... there’s a great big pit in the middle of it so you can’t just like... chop it up like a potato or whatever.” Hunk waits for Shiro to do the math. When the math does not get done, he goes on. “So if you cut _around_ it...”

 

Now... surely Hunk doesn’t mean “cut around it” as in “just hack bits of the avocado off until you hit the pit,” Shiro has seen neatly halved avocados before, he knows there must be a trick to--oh. _Oh!_

 

He sets the avocado down and slices into it lengthwise until the blade hits something hard. Hunk doesn’t say anything, and he’s not reaching over to save the knife or the avocado from whatever he’s doing to them, so... he must be on the right track, right?

 

He picks up the avocado and turns it on the blade, and Hunk turns away and pumps a triumphant fist.

 

Okay! Yes! He’s got it! Shiro keeps turning the avocado, keeps the blade where it is, until he’s gone all the way around. Then he puts the knife down and frowns. Hmm... maybe if he gives it a little twist--ah, that does it. There’s one neat avocado half... but there’s one with the pit still stuck in it.

 

“Okay, hold up,” Hunk says, “I’m just gonna tell you how to do this part ‘cause it’s a little tricky and possibly dangerous. Just take your knife and kinda... smack it into the pit so the blade sticks in it.” He demonstrates with his empty hands. “Then you just twist it till the pit pops out.”

 

Shiro picks the knife back up with his right hand, nestles the pit-bearing half of the avocado in his left, draws the knife back, sees Hunk sort of cringe and avert his eyes and--

 

\--and decides he should probably switch hands in case he misses.

 

“Yyyyyyeah,” Hunk says with a sheepish little grin, “I was gonna say...”

 

But at least this time Shiro’s aim is true and with a satisfying _thwock_ the blade lodges in the pit and not in his hand. And sure enough, with a little twist of the knife, the pit comes right out.

 

“And that’s pretty much it!” Hunk takes the knife with the pit still stuck on it from him, deftly de-pits it, and sets it back down on the cutting board. “Now you just scoop it out of the skin with a spoon and slice it up, put some of that and a little bit of sour cream on top of the soup when you dish it up, and you’re _done!”_

 

Shiro blinks at the pot and the halved avocado. “That’s it?”

 

“That’s it. Hey! You made soup!”

 

“Huh,” Shiro says. “That wasn’t so hard. Thanks, Hunk. I owe you one.”

 

And the next thing he knows, his feet are off the floor and he can’t breathe.

 

“You owe me _nothing._ I am _so proud of you,”_ Hunk half-sobs, swinging Shiro around a little. It’s all Shiro can do to awkwardly pat him on the shoulder.

 

“Hunk,” he gasps. “Need air.”

 

“Oh. Right.” Hunk puts him down. “Sorry about that! I just got a little excited.” He checks the time. “Okay. I gotta go. I’ll come get the pot tomorrow. Hey, hit me up if you want another lesson, huh?”

 

Shiro gives the soup a stir and another little taste and thinks that sounds like a good idea.

 

* * *

 

He shoots Curtis a quick text-- _doing ok?_

 

It takes a little while to get an answer. He must have been napping. _Doing ok,_ he finally replies. _Kinda hungry._

 

Yes. Good. Perfect.

 

 _You feel up to coming to my room, or you want me to come to yours?_ Shiro texts back.

 

 _Guess I could put pants on,_ Curtis replies, and Shiro can’t help but laugh a little. _Kinda want to stretch my legs anyway, been in bed all day. Be there in a bit._

 

Whew. That makes this easier, he won’t have to lug the pot of soup _and_ the avocado and sour cream _and_ the bag of assorted sick-day supplies down to Curtis’ room. It also means Curtis is probably feeling at least a little better.

 

Just as Shiro sets the hot sauce and box of tissues on the end table and brings in the trash can, there’s a soft knock on the door. When Shiro opens it, he sees Curtis standing there with his gym/overnight bag, in his slippers and sweatpants and the T-shirt he sometimes sleeps in with that soft old flannel shirt unbuttoned over it. His hair is a little messy and his eyes are still a little watery and red, but he looks reasonably alert.

 

“Hey.” Shiro sweeps him into the room and into his arms for a minute. “Feeling any better?”

 

“A little, yeah.” Curtis snuggles into his shoulder and sighs. He’s still a little warmer than he should be. He still sounds stuffy. And he might be feeling better but he still looks like hell, so Shiro gently guides him to the couch and sits him down. As Curtis sinks onto the couch, he notices the pressure cooker on the kitchenette counter with the little “keep warm” light on and Shiro sees a look of pure horror spread across his face.

 

“Oh no. Takashi, you didn’t--”

 

“It’s okay.” Shiro sits down next to him and takes both his hands. “It’s fine. Hunk helped me.”

 

Curtis gives him that watery side-eye again.

 

“No, really. He had to straighten me out when I got a teaspoon and a tablespoon mixed up.”

 

“Okay,” Curtis says, _“that,_ I believe.” He sniffs the air, or tries to--it still sounds like he’s trying to breathe through wet cement. “Well... you went to all that trouble so sure, I’ll try it.”

 

Shiro kisses him on the cheek and gets up to dish out the soup. He comes back with two bowls of soup with dabs of sour cream and avocado slices on top and hands one to Curtis.

 

Curtis gives it a cautious sniff... and a cautious taste.

 

His eyes go wide, and then he gives it a much less cautious taste.

 

And then he inhales half the bowl. “It’s good.” His eyes close and he just sort of flops his head over onto Shiro’s shoulder. “It’s really good. But--how’d you know?”

 

“Veronica told me.” Shiro eats some of it himself--yeah, it really did turn out pretty good. “It’s--it’s really just a bunch of stuff from cans, I know it’s probably not very authentic but--”

 

“I don’t care. It’s _perfect._ ” Curtis eats a few more spoonfuls and then sets the bowl down so he can pull his feet up onto the couch and tuck them up under him. “Unless you’ve got some hot sauce--” Then he notices the bottle of Cholula on the end table where his bowl is parked, and he laughs and doctors his soup with it. “You actually learned how to cook something for me. This is great. Maybe I should get sick more often.”

 

“Don’t you even think about it.” Shiro reaches up to smooth Curtis’ hair back from his forehead. “It’s just... you’re always taking care of me so I wanted to pamper _you_ for once, y’know?”

 

Curtis finishes off his soup, sets the empty bowl down, and curls up against Shiro’s side. “I love you.”

 

“Love you too, baby.” Shiro finishes off his own soup and sets his bowl down. “You want another bowl?”

 

“Mmm. Maybe later.”

 

“‘Kay. Let me up so I can put it in the fridge.”

 

Curtis sits up and hands Shiro the bowls, and he takes them to the sink.

 

“Do you need to go take some medicine tonight, or are you okay to just pass out here?” Shiro asks while he’s packing up the leftover soup.

 

“Brought it with me, so I can pass out here.” Curtis hooks his toe into the strap of his gym bag and drags it closer. He digs around in it a bit and takes out a couple of bottles of pills, and Shiro goes into the fridge and hands him a bottle of juice to wash them down. “Thanks.”

 

Shiro finishes packing up the leftovers and cleaning up while Curtis takes his medicine and wriggles out of his flannel shirt. Then on the way to the bedroom for a blanket and some pillows, he cruises by the couch and deposits the drugstore bag in Curtis’ lap.

 

As Shiro is stripping the blanket off his bed he hears a soft _“yesss”_ and the crinkle of a candy wrapper, and he grins.

 

When Shiro comes back to the main room with an armload of bedding he finds Curtis finishing off a Heath bar with one hand and going through the rest of the bag’s contents with the other. “Did I get everything you need?” Shiro asks as he sinks onto the couch next to Curtis and arranges the pillows and blanket into a nice snug nest around both of them.

 

Curtis nods and settles back against him. He goes into the bag again and comes out with the little jar of VapoRub. “Could you...?”

 

Shiro gently takes the jar from him and opens it up. “Of course.”

 

He can’t help but wince a little at the heat when he slips his left hand under Curtis’ T-shirt to rub the stuff on his chest. It doesn’t feel like his temperature is dangerously high, though Shiro does casually lay his right hand on Curtis’ forehead to make sure and finds it’s actually half a degree cooler than it was that morning. And he’s eaten and gotten some fluids in him and taken some medicine and now he’s resting, so... Shiro probably doesn’t need to worry. Of course he does, but at least he knows he probably doesn’t _need_ to.

 

He worries a little less when Curtis makes a soft contented noise and snuggles back against him.

 

“Feels nice,” he murmurs, and his eyes drift closed.

 

And then he sneezes. The first one catches him off guard; he barely gets his hand over his nose and mouth in time and the only thing that keeps him from drawing up into a ball is Shiro’s hand on his chest. Then a second sneeze follows, then a third, then a _fourth,_ and Shiro just picks up the box of tissues with his floaty hand and holds it for him until he’s done.

 

 _“Ugh,”_ Curtis says once he’s finally all sneezed out, one hand still covering his nose and mouth. He grabs a few tissues with the other, does what damage control he needs to, wipes his streaming eyes, and tries to blow his nose again. Thanks to some combination of the warm spicy food and the medicine and the smelly but comforting stuff Shiro is rubbing on his chest, it sounds like he actually manages to dislodge some of the gunk this time.

 

“Sorry,” he says with a weak little laugh when he’s blown as much as he can blow. “That was gross.”

 

“Don’t worry about that.” Shiro just laughs softly and pats his chest. “Better out than in.”

 

“I just hope you don’t end up catching this,” Curtis says, dropping his wad of tissues into the trash and settling back against Shiro again.

 

“Well...” Shiro wraps his arms around Curtis’ waist and kisses his temple. “If I do, you can make _me_ some soup.”

 

“Mmm.” Curtis pulls the blanket up over them both. “Deal.”


End file.
